Dying To Self
by ArkadyRose
Summary: Written in response to a prompt on the LJ Community shkinkmeme. Lord Coward undergoes a painful initiation ritual at the hands of Lord Blackwood. Features suspension and alludes to non-consensual sex  not explicit .


The worst part, he would later reflect, was the waiting and the anticipation.

Coward wondered briefly if he had made a terrible mistake. He wasn't ready for this; Blackwood had erred perhaps in suggesting he took this next step forwards. But even as Blackwood's leather-clad hand came down to rest briefly upon his shoulder, he knew it was too late for such thoughts.

The leather-clad hand tightened briefly; comforting him before the trial ahead perhaps? A warning to brace himself? He didn't know. He closed his eyes, and then bit his lip as the point of the first hook was placed against the soft flesh beneath his right shoulderblade; it was cold and icy, hard and unforgiving.

And then slowly the steel hook pierced his flesh, the muscle beneath the skin, hot wet blood trickling down his back as he trembled and desperately bit back an instinctive scream. His eyes flew open and he breathed hard through his nose, riding out the pain.

The gloved hand squeezed his shoulder approvingly, and then a second hook pressed slowly into his back, hooking beneath the muscle over his left shoulderblade, releasing a second flow of blood down his back; a second brand of fire in his flesh beside the burning throb of the first. His eyelids fluttered and he bowed his head for a moment, letting the waves of pain flow over him as he breathed hard yet steadily.

The hand squeezed his left shoulder slowly, then released him as Blackwood stepped away. It were as though Coward were alone in his own small world of pain as he slowly rose to his feet; his whole awareness narrowed to the two points of burning fire in his back.

For a moment his vision greyed, and he closed his eyes, concentrating upon his breathing and staying upright. He dared not show any sign of weakness. He clenched his hands into fists, driving his nails into the palms of his hands; the slight pain a distraction and counter-pain to that in his back which was dulling even now into a steady throb that seemed to match the beating of his heart. His back was wet and slick with his blood; he could smell it, hot and coppery in the chill air of the chamber. He opened his eyes and straightened his shoulders.

Blackwood stalked slowly around him again, still silent. Lifting his chin almost defiantly, Coward followed him with his eyes and he thought he saw a measure of approval in Blackwood's faint smile as the lord turned away to the suspension apparatus. Without looking back at Coward, he gestured briefly and two berobed Order members stepped forward, one on either side of Coward. They did not touch him as he fell into step between them and approached the frame.

He glanced up at the suspension frame as he held out his arms, then dropped his gaze back to that of Blackwood, whose steady grey eyes seemed to pierce him more thoroughly than the cold steel within his flesh. Coward did not flinch as Blackwood deftly drove hooks through the flesh of his forearms, looping through the muscles. Ready for this pain, Coward exhaled slowly, steadily, breathing out the pain which was almost pleasureable as fresh, warm blood trickled down towards his wrists. Then he extended his arms out to either side as the two Order members silently clipped the hooks in his arms to the suspension cables as Blackwood circled around him.

Blackwood stepped in close, and Coward repressed a shiver as he felt the warm, velvet-clad body press up against his back. Blackwood's leather-clad hands slid over his hips, pressed briefly against his abdomen, then slid slowly up over his ribs to press against his bare chest.

"Do you trust me?" Blackwood whispered quietly into his left ear, his breath ghosting soft and sweet across his cheek.

"With my life, my Lord," replied Coward softly, closing his eyes.

"That is as well," replied Blackwood, and Coward could tell he was smiling. "For you die to yourself this night."

Abruptly he pulled away from Coward, and his absence was a cold chill against the man's back. Coward swallowed, and licked his lips nervously as the hooks in his back were clipped to the suspension cables.

And then he was hoisted into the air.

There was a wrenching, pulling feeling as his weight was hoisted up, focussed into the burning pain in his shoulders and back. He let his head fall back as the sweat stood out upon his forehead; his eyes, wide open, did not see the stone vault of the chamber ceiling above him. It were as though he were one blind, and yet his senses had never been so wonderfully sharp. The pain was an intense, white-hot agony that burned through his whole being before receding into nothing, leaving only a sensation of complete peace and calm that suffused his whole self.

He was vaguely aware of the physical sensations coursing through his body; the faint tremble in his limbs, the hot and cold shivers racing across his skin, the tell-tale tingling of physical shock in hands and feet, his lips numb - but it was with a sense of detatchment, almost as though he were observing it occurring to someone else. His hearing seemed almost preternaturally sharp; he could hear the restless shuffling as one of the older Order members shifted his weight from one foot to the other. An indrawn hiss of breath from someone behind and to his left. The quiet murmur of Blackwood's voice, almost soothing as he paced a slow circle around Coward's crucified form, whispering the incantation to the chill air. Coward closed his eyes and let the sounds and sensations wash over him.

The other members of the Order drew closer, now echoing the low chant of Blackwood; he calling, they answering, then chanting in unison, their voices rising in a wall of sound around Coward, lifting him up into euphoria, and he laughed before raising his voice to join theirs. He opened his eyes as the chant rose to a crescendo and then abruptly ceased.

And then the only sound was that of his laughter.

They lowered him gently down, and caught him when his knees buckled. He sank to his knees gratefully as they released the cables from the hooks; he watched, drunk with the rush of endorphins as they swiftly pulled the hooks from his arms, and then he knelt still, placidly surrendering to Blackwood's hands as the lord placed his hands upon the two hooks in his back. He paused, then pulled both hooks free in one sudden move. Coward cried out briefly at the faint pain, barely a faint echo of what he had felt at their placement; he felt a strange sensation of loss, oddly naked now the metal was gone from his flesh.

Blackwood laid his hand upon Coward's head, forcing him to bend forward. Obediently he knelt down, hunching over until his forehead was pressed against the soothing coolness of the flagstones; he felt intensely weary and ennervated, and was content to let his arms fall limply to either side.

He could just see Blackward's feet as the lord took position behind him and pulled open his black velvet robes. There were faint sounds of indrawn breaths around them as the rest of the Order watched their lord and master take himself in hand and begin to stroke his long length into arousal. Coward closed his eyes as Blackwood's breath came faster, his hand working swiftly upon his hard, firm member, his body twitching yet his stance steady. Coward kept perfectly still as Blackwood's breath became harsher, more laboured and ragged, panting with low grunts.

And then with a satisfied groan, Blackwood came, and Coward moaned softly as hot, sticky wet fluid spattered across his back, covering his aching wounds as it ran down his shoulders and arms, flowing down his back as it mingled with the slowly drying blood. He could feel it moistening his hair at the nape of his neck and then trickling across the back of his scalp.

Behind him, Blackwood wiped himself clean with a handkerchief which he threw down carelessly to the floor as he pulled his robes closed once more. "Have him cleaned up," he ordered. "Then have him brought to my chambers."

Coward slowly pushed himself upright, his limbs trembling with fatigue and delayed reaction as he rose to his feet and turned to Blackwood mutely. Blackwood smiled briefly and patted Coward upon the shoulder. "You did well, Coward," he said quietly. "Welcome to the Order."

Once Blackwood had left the chamber, it seemed there was a collective sigh of relief as the other members of the Order relaxed and came forward to surround Coward. He found himself swaying on his feet as they smiled and laughed, patting him on the shoulders and congratulating him upon his initiation into the higher echelons of the Order. Gentle hands supported him and guided him to a chair as soft cloths and warm water cleansed away the drying, sticky fluids from his skin and hair. Drained and a little chilled now the adrenaline had left his system, he passively surrendered to their ministrations. He was grateful for the warm purple robe they draped about his shoulders, even though the weight of the fabric pressing upon his wounds reawakened the pain into a dull throbbing; it was nothing compared to what he had just endured.

Then he rose to his feet a little stiffly and headed toward the door through which Blackwood had departed. He had no idea what lay in store for him in Blackwood's chamber, but he knew it would not do to keep the master waiting.

Though he knew the way, Coward had never approached Blackwood's chambers before; they were sacrosanct, and none other had ever been permitted within those forbidding iron-studded black oaken doors. He wondered at his own invitation. He leaned upon the wall briefly before the doors, his hand raised to knock as he hesitated.

"Come," called a soft voice before he could muster the courage to knock. Swallowing down his fear, Coward pressed his hand flat against the door and pushed it open.

Blackwood had changed out of the ceremonial robe and was clad in a dark charcoal grey silk dressing gown. He stood in the centre of the room, hands folded behind his back, and he smiled as Coward entered.

"My Lord," said Coward quietly, and made to bow; but Blackwood stepped forward and placed one hand upon his breast, fingers slightly splayed as he halted Coward's movement.

"Nay, Daniel," said Blackwood gently. "Tonight of all nights, I will not stand upon ceremony with you." He smiled gently and stepped around the smaller man to push the door closed. Coward stood where he was, glancing at his feet uncertainly.

He gasped a little in shock as Blackwood's hands suddenly gripped his shoulders from behind and the taller man pressed himself against his back. "You're trembling," remarked Blackwood. "You are surely not afraid of me now, Daniel? Not after what you have already endured?"

"For-forgive me," stammered Coward. "I-"

"Hush," breathed Blackwood in his ear as he slowly slipped the purple robe from Coward's shoulders, letting the rich fabric slide down his arms to pool upon the floor around his feet. "Don't be afraid of me, Daniel."

"I'm not," replied Coward, and knew it for truth even as the words left his lips. Blackwood gently pushed him towards the bed, and Coward obeyed willingly, allowing himself to be guided up onto the soft burgundy silk. Blackwod placed his hand upon the small of Coward's back, and the smaller man lay down upon his stomach as Blackwood climbed up onto the bed beside him. He turned his head to watch as Blackwood reached for his left arm, and then drew in his breath with a hiss as Blackwood began to massage his wounded forearm.

"Easy there," said Blackwood gently as he ministered to the wound deftly, reaching for a small bowl of water upon the nightstand. "Let me tend to you. For tonight, you are the most honoured member of the Order, Daniel. You have endured what few have done before you." Coward licked his lips but found speech was, at least for the moment, beyond him. He still felt as though he were half in a trance; nothing seemed entirely real. He could only watch mutely as Blackwood carefully applied a clean dressing and wound a soft white linen bandage around his arm.

He did the same for Coward's other arm, and then laid one hand upon Coward's shoulder; the touch was warm and comforting. "Daniel, look at me," said Blackwood quietly yet commandingly. Coward turned slightly, drawing his arm up beneath himself and pushing himself up into a semi-reclining position as he turned to Blackwood. "Sir?"

"How often do you think I have ministered to Order members here in my own room?" he asked, tilting his head a little to one side. Coward blinked and shook his head wordlessly. Blackwood smiled. "You are the first, Daniel." His grip tightened upon Coward's shoulder; Coward allowed himself to be pressed back down upon the bed. Then Blackwood settled himself astride Coward's back and placed his hands over the two wounds. "Brace yourself," he warned quietly.

Coward pressed his face into the silk coverlet, his fingers clutching fistfuls of silk tightly as Blackwood began to knead and massage the air out of the bloody wounds then started to wash them carefully. Coward bit his lip and fought down the urge to whimper, breathing heavily through his nose as he rode out the waves of pain as he had done when first the wounds were inflicted. It seemed an age before he felt the soft touch of dressings upon the bloodied mess.

Blackwood's weight lifted from his back, and the older man gently pulled him up onto his knees before starting to wind long bandages around his torso and across his shoulders. Coward sat silently, his head drooping forward, arms limp at his sides as he surrendered to Blackwood's hands. It took him some few minutes to realise that Blackwood had finished and was simply sitting still, his arms loosely wound around Coward's chest. "My Lord?" he murmured drowsily.

Blackwood raised a hand and traced a finger down the side of Coward's face before taking his jaw firmly in his hand and turning his head so that Coward would look at him. Coward's gaze lifted to that of the taller man. "My Lord?" he repeated, confused.

"My brave Daniel," said Blackwood, smiling. Then he leaned forward and kissed him.

Coward pulled away, eyes wide. Blackwood reached out and snaked his hand around the back of Coward's head, sinking his fingers into the short black hair where they tightened, painfully, halting Coward before he could pull further away. Blackwood's smile did not reach his eyes as he pulled the unwilling man closer before crushing his lips to Coward's, forcing his tongue past the weaker man's lips. He bit down upon Coward's bottom lip as he tried to struggle, and Coward cried out briefly, the taste of his own blood filling his mouth and making him gag. Then Blackwood thrust him down onto the bed.

"My- my Lord, please-"

"You are mine, Daniel. Say it." Hands at the waist of his trousers, fingers questing, insistent. Coward struggled, trying to twist away until a hand came down firmly upon his wounded back, pressing until he screamed. "Say it!"

"I am yours!" cried Coward, tears of pain rolling down his face as his struggles ceased. "I'm yours!"

Blackwood pressed his body over that of Coward and he licked the tear-streaked face beneath him. "Never forget that, Daniel."

And then Blackwood took what was his.

Roughly, and repeatedly.

~_fin_~


End file.
